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"I do not run berserk in an ordinary battle," he replied drily. "Why should I? I do not hate or fear my opponents in battle." He put out a hand, looked at the blood on it and let it drop without touching Alinor. Suddenly feeling came back to him, and he needed to stiffen his body to keep from trembling like a leaf, to keep from clutching Alinor to him and weeping over her. "Do you not understand? It was because" |
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The trembling whisper checked the words on Ian's lips. A flicker of anger was swallowed in relief. Alinor was herself again, warm, concerned for him, friendly. He had almost pushed her back into coldness by speaking of love. Fool that he was, would he never learn? He turned toward Geoffrey. The boy did not cringe away, but his eyes widened apprehensively. Ian smiled at him. |
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"You know, Geoffrey, I was pleased when you decided to stay with the fighting group because I thought it was time for you to be blooded. I did not expect there would beerquite so much blood." |
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The strained look diminished appreciably as Ian's calm voice and practical words began to penetrate. The vision of the berserker, bludgeoning already dead men into red jelly, faded. Geoffrey watched his master remove a gauntlet and grimace distastefully at the red-stained hand. There had been so much blood that it had soaked right through the leather glove. |
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"You must not be distressed that you felt sick," Ian continued. "I hate to tell you how often I have emptied my belly after a battle, and Owain still does so now and again. It is a common thing. No one will say aught to you or think less of you for it." |
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Alinor retreated gently. The boy did not need her and would speak more easily to Ian if they were alone. He was a most excellent master to his squires. It was too bad Adam could not stay with him. But that would not be suitable anyway, Alinor thought. Even if she |
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